Curse of Strahd: Into the Mists
by xmana033
Summary: My first fanfiction. Novelization of the D&D adventure Curse of Strahd. A party of adventurers find themselves lured into the land of Barovia, which they discover is under the rule of terror of a vampire lord. Guided by a card reading given to them by a mysterious old woman, they set out to destroy the vampire and free Barovia.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The dark figure stood upon the overlook, a small frown flitting across the cruel angles of his face as he surveyed the dreary, mist shrouded town a thousand feet below him. He had long since grown bored of toying with its inhabitants, but tonight, he felt something different, almost as if it might be worth his while to visit the town. The blood of the commoners was full of dirt and sweat, but there was still noble blood hidden within the town's cowering people, and it had been too long, years, since he had indulged.

Very well. It was decided. Without hesitation, he gracefully leapt off of the overlook, free falling through the freezing drizzle of rain. In the time it took for lightning to slash through the air, he had completed the now familiar transformation, and he now soared towards the town on leathery wings. Any unlucky person who happened to be walking the streets would only see a large bat flapping through the air, but even that sight would send them cowering for the illusion of safety in their homes.

He alighted on the steeple of the old, run-down church, already planning tonight's hunt. He would start with the mansion of the burgomeister, he decided. He returned to human form and dropped from the steeple, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. He walked confidently through the old, narrow streets, his cloak spreading behind him like the wings of a monstrous bat. Twice, he saw terrified faces peeking out from behind drawn curtains, which quickly disappeared as he passed, looks of horror on their faces. He smiled sadistically. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed this.

Presently, he reached the burgomeister's mansion, if one could even call it that. It had once been a fine building, but now it squatted tiredly among the weeds that had forced their way up to the walls of the building. The wrought-iron fence was caked with rust, and the roof was missing half its tiles. He pushed aside the gate with a creak of rusted hinges, and began to prowl around the house, planning out a ruse to trick the inhabitants into allowing him in. As he rounded the corner of the house, a light in one of the windows caught his attention. In the room, a young woman sat with her back to the window, evidently reading something by the light of a tallow candle. She had long, auburn hair, almost like… No, it couldn't be.

Almost as if she sensed his presence, she turned around and looked out the window, clutching an old holy symbol to her chest. But it was not the sight of the holy symbol that made the vampire recoil. It was her face, as familiar to him as his own, that made him stumble back. He stared at her, mouth slightly open, a look that was almost love softening his face. A single tear made of blood slid down his cheek, dropping onto the hard ground. It _was_ her.

She had been reborn.


	2. Chapter One

**Hey guys! I hope the prologue drew you in. Like I said in the summary, this is my first fanfic, so I hope you like it! I'm opening with both the prologue and the first chapter, and I will try to update this once every Saturday, and on Sundays too if I have the time. I rated it T for now, but will probably change the rating to M later on in the story due to violence, language, and some sexuality. So without further ado, here's chapter one!**

 **Chapter One**

 _Escher_

Escher walked quickly through the empty halls of Castle Ravenloft. He noticed a few other of the Count's minions staring at him from the shadows as he swept by, but they knew better than to bother the Count's favorite. He hissed at a few females who didn't get out of the way quickly enough, taking sadistic pleasure in their looks of fear and loathing. Being the Count's favorite didn't exactly make him very popular. Arriving at the study, where the Count spent most of his time, he rapped sharply on the door.

"Come in," the Count snarled from within. Escher was slightly taken aback at his master's tone. He normally kept his emotions in check very well. Something must have happened. Swallowing his doubts, Escher only hesitated for a split second before opening the door and entering the room.

It was warm and comfortable in the room. The blazing fire illuminated the many bookshelves that Escher had spent countless hours perusing. The Count himself was seated in one of the plush chairs that sat in front of the fire. He was staring at the portrait above the fire, which depicted a strikingly beautiful woman in a purple gown, her elegant face framed by long auburn hair. A plaque at the bottom of the frame read _Tatyana_. Escher knew that the woman had some connection to the Count's past, but had yet to ask him about her, and the Count had never volunteered the information.

Escher dropped into a bow as the Count turned towards him, a look of fury distorting his features.

"It is I, Escher, my lord. I bring news." Immediately the Count's usual mask of impassiveness dropped over his face.

"Ah, Escher. Forgive me. I have seen something that… troubled me. Do continue."

"Thank you, my lord." Escher straightened. "A bird just arrived from Arrigal. You may want to see this." Escher held out the small, rolled up piece of paper. The Count took it and unrolled it, his eyes scanning quickly over the writing. A slow smile spread across his face.

"So, Arrigal has found some new amusement for me," the Count chuckled. "About time."

"Indeed, my lord," agreed Escher.

The Count looked up as if remembering that Escher was still there. "Yes, thank you, Escher, you are dismissed," he said.

Escher bowed. "Thank you, my lord," he said. He started to leave, but then turned back around. "My lord…" he said, and the hesitated.

"You begin to try my patience, Escher. What is it?" the Count demanded, a slight edge to his tone.

"I was merely wondering if you would visit me in my chambers later. Forgive me for being so assuming," Escher said.

"No, I don't think I will tonight, Escher," the Count said. "I have other matters to attend to. Other things to ponder."

"Of course, my lord," Escher said, and exited the room with a bow. As he closed the door, he saw the Count turn back to the portrait on the wall. The door closed with a thump, leaving Escher with a faint sense of jealousy.


	3. Chapter Two

**So I had time today to crank out another chapter, so here I am, updating my first fanfic! So exciting! Thank you to dlione for reviewing the story. As to your suggestion, since the chapter was from Escher's perspective, I felt as if it would take away from the immersion to have his explain his own appearance, or the Count's, for that matter, since Escher is familiar with the Count's appearance. But when other characters meet Escher for the first time, you'll find out what he looks like! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Chapter Two**

 _Adrian_

Night had fallen over the town of Red Larch, one of the many towns along the Long Road. A dreary rain had been falling the entire day, and now at night, the rain had solidified into a thick fog that covered the village, coating the cobblestones with moisture and seeming to choke off all light. But inside The Helm at Highsun, the village tavern, the fire was roaring and the ale was warm and frothy.

Adrian sat at a table in the corner with his two best friends, a halfling named Errica and a half-elf named Jaren. They were in the midst of reminiscing about their childhoods and exchanging funny stories about each other. The three had been friends for their entire lives, since they were urchins in the city of Luskan. They had complimented each other nicely, with Errica stealing them food, Adrian keeping the other two safe from thugs, and Jaren being the brains of the entire operation. Adrian and Errica were currently competing to see who could tell the most embarrassing story about the other, while Jaren sat in silence, smiling softly. He had always been the quiet one.

"And right when you were about to steal the apples, Errica," Adrian was saying, laughing, "the shopkeeper came out and he was the biggest, burliest half-orc any of us had ever seen. The look on your face was priceless! He cracked his knuckles and asked, 'You weren't about to steal anything, were you, young lady?' and you, who have always been able to talk your way out of anything with that silver tongue of yours, all you could squeak out was, 'No sir.'"

Errica, who had just taken a generous sip of ale, spewed it across the table, nearly hitting Adrian, who dodged out of the way, chuckling.

"I remember that! I nearly pissed myself that time," she laughed, slapping her knee. "I also remember a time when you-" But she was cut short as the door opened with a bang. The tavern fell silent as a man stepped through the doorway and surveyed the room. He was wearing a heavy traveling cloak, dampened from the thick fog, which he threw back to reveal that he was wearing exotic, colorful clothing. He had a silk sash around his waist, which was supporting a sheathed scimitar, the blade forming an elegant curve. His features were exotic as well, with olive skin and a large hooked nose. He sported a pointed black beard and moustache, and his long, wavy black hair was wrapped in a silk headscarf. He looked around the tavern, and his eyes fell on Adrian and his group. He began making his way slowly towards their table, seemingly unbothered by the entire tavern watching him. His heavy booted footfalls and the jingling of coins cut through the silence that had fallen over the tavern. Upon reaching their table, he stood in a wide stance with his arms crossed. He spoke in a heavy accent.

"I have been sent to you to deliver this message. If you be creatures of honor, you will come to my master's aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich Woods at night." Adrian frowned. He had never heard of these "Svalich Woods" before, and judging from his companions expressions, they hadn't either. Ignoring their questioning looks, the man pulled a sealed letter from his leather satchel and dropped it onto the table. "Take the west road from here some five hours march down through the Svalich Woods. There you will find my master in Barovia." The man strode over to the bar, where the barkeep had a hand under the bar with a wary expression on his face. The man dropped a purse heavy with coins onto the table and said, "Fill their glasses, one and all. Their throats are obviously parched." With that, he strode out the door.

"Wait one second," Adrian called, but the door had already slammed shut. The babble of the tavern resumed, albeit more subdued than before.

"What do you think that was about?" Errica asked curiously.

"Let's find out!" Adrian replied, picking up the letter on the table and breaking the seal, which depicted an eagle with wings spread in front of a shield with a castle emblazoned on it. The letter was written in a slanted, flowing hand. Adrian handed it to Jaren, the only literate one among the three, who read it out loud. It read:

 _Hail to thee of might and valor:_

 _I, a lowly servant of Barovia, send honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed assistance._

 _The love of my life, Ireena Kolyana, has been afflicted by an evil so deadly that even the good people of our village cannot protect her. She languishes from her wound, and I would have her saved from this menace._

 _There is much wealth in this community. I offer all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou shalt but answer my desperate plea._

 _Come quickly, for her time is at hand! All that I have shall be thine!_

 _Kolyan Indirovich_

 _Burgomeister_

Jaren looked up. "Have either of you ever heard of Barovia?" he asked. Adrian and Errica shook their heads.

"What do you guys think?" Adrian asked the other two.

"Do you remember the part that said ' _There is much wealth in this community?"_ Errica asked, and Adrian nodded. "Well, I think that's all the answer we need!" she continued with a wink.

"And the chance to help someone in need," Adrian added.

"Well, it's settled, then," Jaren said with finality. "We leave in the morning?"

The other two nodded their assent.


	4. Chapter Three

**Hey, y'all! Here I am, uploading another chapter! (I had time today, so I figured "Why not?") Here I'm introducing one of my favorite characters, Ezmerelda d'Avenir. The chapters will continue to get longer as I get more comfortable with writing. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter Three**

 _Ezmerelda_

Ezmerelda d'Avenir sighed as the once-familiar sight of the East Gates of Barovia loomed out of the mist before her. There was no way she could honestly say that it was good to be back. Being a Vistana, one of the nomadic people who inhabited Barovia, she could come and go as she pleased, but she hadn't been back to this accursed place in years.

She looked up at the massive gates with apprehension. Ever since she was a young girl, these gates had always given her the creeps. She would always hide in the wagon when her family would pass through them on their way into or out of Barovia.

The gates themselves were massive iron gates set into an even more massive stone wall. They were flanked by headless statues of armored knights, twenty times the size of a person. The heads lay in the weeds that choked the feet of the statues. Whether the heads had been hacked off by some human enemy or by something much more powerful and sinister, she did not know. All Ezmerelda knew was that she would much rather the heads have been attached to the bodies. Where they were, they had been scarred with graffiti and slashed by what looked like claw marks. She clicked her tongue at her horse, Fate, and her wagon began to slowly trundle forward.

As she neared the gates, they opened of their own accord with a long, grinding screech that sounded eerily like tormented screaming. Ezmerelda shivered. She had forgotten that they did that.

She passed through the gates and they closed behind her with a sense of finality. Ezmerelda shivered again. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was now trapped in Barovia forever. _Don't be stupid, Ezmerelda,_ she thought to herself. _You're a Vistana. You can leave whenever you want._ But somehow, that didn't make her feel any better.

As Ezmerelda trundled down the muddy track in the chilling drizzle that had started up, she reflected on the strange turn of events that had brought her back to Barovia.

Ezmerelda had not seen hide nor hair of her old teacher, Dr Rudolph Van Richten, for years- and she liked it that way. She hadn't wanted anything to do with the old codger. His style of hunting didn't agree with her, they got into arguments frequently, and the main reason she suggested they part ways was, frankly, that she wanted to leave with at least some part of their relationship intact. But lately, her thoughts had been turning more and more to him, wondering if he was still alive, and wanting to see him again. After much thought, she decided to try and track him down.

This was easier said than done. She tried all her main contacts, she pulled in favors that she had earned over years of monster hunting, and nothing. Slippery old bastard. But finally, from a werewolf specialist in the Misty Forest, she learned, to her horror, that there were rumors that Van Richten was going after the biggest prize of them all- the near-mythical vampire Count Strahd Von Zarovich, Lord of Barovia, the land of Ezmerelda's youth.

Ezmerelda was, quite frankly, furious that Van Richten had decided to go after Strahd without her, so she resolved to return to Barovia and help him hunt down the vampire. In preparation for what would probably be the most dangerous job of her life, she spent the next few months and the rest of her favors researching all she could about the Count. There was precious little to find.

It was known that he inhabited a castle called Castle Ravenloft in the land of Barovia. No one Ezmerelda spoke to knew exactly where Barovia was, but as a Vistana, Ezmerelda could bypass that problem. As to the vampire's powers, he obviously had all the strengths and weaknesses of a normal vampire, like the ability to charm weak-minded people, the ability to turn into a bat or a wolf at will, strong regeneration abilities, aversion to sunlight and running water, paralyzed by a stake to the heart while in his resting place, etc. But it was also hinted that he had some additional form of unknown magical protection, and it was believed that he was a powerful wizard as well.

Over her years of monster hunting, Ezmerelda had learned that many of the most powerful vampires had hidden weaknesses one could exploit, like people from their past life, or magical items that they were particularly weak to, so she devoted time to trying to find out the Count's, but to no avail. So armed with her research and her trusted gear, she set out to Barovia. Once there, she planned to speak to the old Vistani seer, Madam Eva, to see if she could give Ezmerelda a lead on Van Richten's location.

She set out on a dreary, misty morning. Driving her wagon down the road, she began filling her mind with thoughts of Barovia, distasteful as it was. Concentrating on the road in front of her, she blocked out the mist thickening around her, the trees becoming dark shapes that seemed to move of their own accord. She did this for four grueling hours. All at once, the mist lessened around her, and the massive dark shape of the gates of Barovia loomed up before her eyes. Ezmerelda sighed.

She was home.


	5. Chapter Four

**Hey, everyone! Got a cool new chapter coming up here. Here's where I'm going to change the rating to M due to graphic descriptions of gore. Hope you enjoy this one!**

 **Chapter Four**

 _Ismark_

Ismark knew he shouldn't have drunk so much. It wasn't so much the pounding headache or the feeling that the ground was tilting back and forth. It wasn't that he knew that the news that the burgomeister's son had passed out drunk last night would spread like wildfire. It wasn't even the fact that as soon as he woke up in the tavern early that morning, he puked his guts up all over the already filthy bar. No, what gave him enough terror to get up and begin running as fast as he could towards his home was the fact that he had woken up in the _tavern_.

He had left Ireena home all night.

Now, normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about this, as his sister was a grown woman, and could take care of herself. What terrified Ismark Kolyanovich was that, three nights ago, on his way home from the tavern, he had glimpsed a dark shape outside their house. It had been on the edge of his lantern-light, and had done a double-take as soon as he noticed it, but it had been gone. Ismark had supposed he could've imagined it, but when you lived under the shadow of Castle Ravenloft, you learned never to assume you'd imagined anything. Ireena had greeted him with her usual upbeatness, and he had decided not to tell her about the incident. He was glad he didn't, because later that night, he realized that the shape had been outside her window. He had resolved to be extra watchful.

 _Well, there's that resolution broken,_ he thought.

The night after he had first glimpsed the shape, he saw it again- this time actually scaling the wall to his sister's window. He had shouted and began to run towards it, but had tripped over a root and landed. On his face. Hard. Hard enough to see lights dancing in front of his eyes. When he had shaken it off, the shape was gone, and the only living thing around was a bat winging its way upward towards the distant castle.

Last night had been a bad one for Ismark. He had gone to the tavern as normal, but he couldn't stop thinking about the shape and what it could be. He had the dark shadows of a suspicion forming in the back of his mind, but he didn't want to even consider acknowledging them. He had drank glass after glass of cheap wine, his mood getting darker and darker. In the back of his mind, he had known that this was a bad idea, but his conscious mind didn't care. The last thing he remembered was noticing a woman around his age enter the bar. She had the features of a Vistana, with olive skin and long curly black hair, and he had never seen her before. He had noticed something strange about her right boot, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He had shrugged and called for another glass of wine, and then nothing. Upon waking up, he had sat up and promptly thrown up all over himself, then rushed out the door, leaving a blank-faced barkeep to mechanically begin to clean it up.

Now, he was stumbling down the road toward his father's mansion. Not even bothering to open the gate, he vaulted the fence sloppily, narrowly missing impaling his hand on the pointed wrought-iron fence posts. His heart clenched with terror as he saw that Ireena's window had been smashed. He was too late.

He tore up the front steps and smashed against the door, shoving the key at the keyhole, missing three times before finally getting the fucking thing in there. He threw open the door and took the stairs two at a time, calling, "Ireena! Answer me! IREENA!"

Ismark tried the handle of her door, finding it locked. Hearing sobbing from inside, he abandoned all caution and threw himself at the door, smashing it open, ignoring the pain exploding in his shoulder. What he saw made him stop dead in horror.

The room was covered in blood. It was splattered up the walls, covering the bed, pooling on the floor. The window was smashed, the jagged edges dripping with more of the red fluid. In the center of the room lay two bodies, one of them recognizable as Ismark's father, Kolyan Indirovich. He wasn't moving. The other was Ireena, shaking with sobs, her body thrown over their father's. Both of them were covered in more blood, which soaked Ireena's previously white nightdress, the red shocking against what little of the original color remained.

Ismark approached her slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. From here he could see the cuts disfiguring his father's face, making him seem alien and unfamiliar. Ismark knelt down next to his sister and gently put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, but seeing that it was him, she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder, exposing their father's body. Ismark couldn't suppress a gasp at this added horror.

There was a hole right through his chest, where his heart would've been. The organ in question lay next to the body, still oozing blood. Cracked ribs protruded from the flesh at odd angles, and Ismark's gorge rose. He averted his eyes from the hideous sight, turning instead to Ireena, who was mumbling something into his chest. Ismark leaned closer, struggling to make out the words.

"The eyes the eyes blazing eyes he wanted me he needed me he loved me father's dead so much blood the eyes blazing eyes fiery eyes the eyes the eyes the eyes the eyes…" She degenerated into sobbing.

Ismark's own eyes stung as he shushed her gently "Shhh, Ireena, it's going to be alright. I'm here, Ireena, I'll protect you," he said, knowing he hadn't and hating himself for it. "Come on, let's get you to my bed."

He helped her up, and she clung to his shoulder, sobbing softly. He guided her gently to his bed and helped her to get the bloodstained nightgown off. She huddled under the covers, still sobbing, but within minutes, she had fallen into an exhausted slumber. Ismark stayed there for a few minutes, watching her. He kissed her on the forehead and was about to leave when she turned restlessly and his saw something that chilled him to the core.

There, on her neck, were two small puncture wounds about an inch and a half apart, barely noticeable through the blood, yet now painfully obvious to Ismark. He stumbled back a step. The shadowy theories he had contemplated earlier were now thrown into bright, harsh light.

 _Morninglord forgive me,_ Ismark thought. _This is all my fault._

Unable to keep the boiling rage inside of him under control any longer, he pounded down the stairs and fell to his knees outside.

Then Ismark Kolyanovich, Burgomeister of Barovia Village, slammed his fists into the cold, unyielding ground and screamed his rage at the flat, uncaring grey sky.


	6. Chapter Five

**Hey, everyone! Here I am, uploading another chapter today. I'll try to get another one on tomorrow if I have the time. Special thanks to my reviewer for the week, dlione. It was great to hear from you again, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Another shout-out to the new follower this week, David Griffiths. Thanks to everyone else who read it this past week, it's great to see those views go up. This chapter will be going back to a character you've already met: Escher, the Count's consort. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter Five**

 _Escher_

Escher finished the last pages of the book he had been reading and closed it with a sigh. It was one he had read multiple times, a book on military strategy penned by one of the Count's ancestors, Vladislav Von Zarovich. Escher had always loved the intricacies of battlefield strategy, and he fancied the Count would give him personal lessons one day, but up to now, that day had never come. He stood up and stretched with a catlike yawn.

Ludmilla Vilisevic, another of the Count's offspring and the closest thing Escher had to a friend, looked up from her own book.

"Finished?" she asked, and Escher nodded.

His and Ludmilla's relationship was unusual. She was one of the Count's three female consorts- the ones he liked to call his "brides." There were always three of them, and they came and went faster than the Count's main consort- either male or female, this was a position highly sought after by the Count's offspring, and it was currently held by Escher himself, as it had been for nearly seventy-five years now. As such, it was impossible for Escher to befriend any of the lesser vampires, as they were only hunting for more favor with the Count, and it was impossible to befriend the brides, as they were envious of his own high favor with the Count. Ludmilla was the exception, as she was the least favored of the three brides, and therefore unlikely to gain any position with the Count no matter whether she befriended Escher or not. So they had a cordial relationship, which was more than he had with anyone besides the Count himself.

Ludmilla went back to her reading, and Escher began to move away to get a new book.

 _Need flooded through him as he clung to the windowsill, staring through the glass at the woman he had given up his life and soul for four hundred years ago. She lay peacefully in her bed, the graceful curve of her neck drawing all his attention. He stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. Tonight was the night he would finally make his move. His entire life (and death) had been leading up to this moment._

 _He knocked gently on the window, and she turned over in her sleep. He knocked again, with a little more force this time, and she awoke with a gasp. He ducked beneath the windowsill, hoping to get her to open the window to see what it was. Sure enough, her curiosity got the better of her, just as he knew it would. Death hadn't changed her a bit._

 _She slid open the window, and he whispered, "Look down." She did, gasping as she saw him and opening her mouth to scream._

" _Shhh, shhh, I only want to talk, I swear it," he said urgently. She stopped, still looking scared, but curiosity was again taking over her expression. Fearless and curious. That was his girl. "Do you not remember me?"_

 _She shook her head. "No, I've never met you in my life. Yet…" He waited expectantly. "There is something familiar about you. Where have I seen you before?"_

" _May I come in? We can talk more easily inside," he said, not answering her question. She hesitated, very rightly suspicious of a strange man outside her window in the wee hours of the morning, but, playing right into his expectations, her curiosity and, most likely, that strange sense of familiarity she must be feeling got the better of her yet again._

" _Of course," she said. "Come right in."_

 _He climbed through the window silently and stepped onto the floor, closing the window behind him. He bowed low to her. "Think long and hard, my lady. I know you know me. The memories are just locked deep inside you."_

 _She furrowed her brow, obviously deep in thought. "I… A name. A name just popped into my head. Is it alright if I say it?"_

" _Of course, my lady," he replied, exultation flooding through him. She remembered him! But the next word out of her mouth changed his joy into a red-hot fury._

" _Sergei?" she asked tentatively. The accursed name reverberated throughout his head, and for a second, he was speechless with rage. Then, he exploded._

" _HOW DARE YOU MENTION HIS NAME!" he roared, sending her shrieking into the corner. He advanced on her, his eyes blazing with fury. "HE IS DEAD! HE IS NOT COMING BACK TO YOU!"_

 _The door was thrown open by an older man in his nightshirt, evidently the girl's father, judging by his next words._

" _Get away from my daughter!" he yelled, and charged._

 _The vampire grabbed him and deftly twisted his arm behind his back, stopping his pitiful attack. He picked up the old man as easily as if he were picking up a twig and smashed his head through the window. The old man screamed in agony, his cries intermingling with the girl in the corner's. The vampire then thrust a hand into the man's back, his sharp fingernails tearing through flesh and bone, and ripped out his heart. The organ spurted blood everywhere, over the walls, the bed, the vampire, and the girl herself._

 _Seeing red, he dropped the body and the detached organ on the floor and turned his gaze on the girl. As soon as she met his eyes, she stopped screaming, silenced by whatever she saw there, as hee was overcome with hunger and the need for her, feeling his fangs slide out from his gums. Advancing on her, he picked her up, pinned her against the wall, and sank his teeth into her neck._

 _Pure, undiluted pleasure flooded through him. Her blood tasted like citrus and roses and sex. He closed his eyes and bathed in the sensation, feeling himself harden. He had waited for this moment for four hundred years, and now that it was finally here, it was pure bliss._

 _But in the back of his mind, he knew it couldn't go to completion. He couldn't turn her right now, he had to do it peacefully, he had to have her fully under his control, mind, body, and soul. Feeling her pathetic struggles start to grow weaker, he reluctantly detached himself, dropping her to the floor, where she crawled over to the dead body of her father and threw herself over it, her own body wracked by sobs._

 _He surveyed the damage he had wrought. Blood was everywhere. The girl lay weeping over the dead body. He was breathing heavily, rage still coursing through his veins, and he knew he couldn't take her now. He had to regain control of his emotions first. He could always come back to her later._

 _He heard the front door open, and a voice called, "Ireena! Answer me! IREENA!" It must be that accursed brother, the one who had noticed him the previous two nights. The vampire strode over to the door and locked it, just to spite the whelp._

 _Then he made the transformation into a creature of the air and sped out the window into the cold, foggy morning._

Escher opened his eyes with a gasp, his mind racing. What _was_ that? Ludmilla was shaking him, calling his name. He sat up.

"Oh, good, you're awake! You were out for a while there. Are you alright?" she asked him.

Escher was too lost in thought to answer. If he was right about what had occurred, he had just experienced what the Count was doing at that moment. He had never heard of this happening before, and he had no idea why it had happened only now, in his seventy-five years with the Count. He must research this more.

"Escher?" Ludmilla asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he replied irritably. Ignoring her further questions, he darted about the room with superhuman speed, grabbing all the books about vampires and vampirism that he could find. Rushing to the door with a hasty, "Until later, my lady," to Ludmilla, he sped up to his rooms in the high tower to study the matter further.


	7. Chapter Six

**Hey, again, y'all! Uploading another chapter today. Three this weekend! Wow! Hope you enjoy!**

 **Chapter Six**

 _Ezmerelda_

Ezmerelda arrived at the tavern in Barovia Village later that evening. The first thing that caught her attention was the sign above the door, which was rather interesting, she thought. It had once read 'Blood of the Vine Tavern,' assumedly meaning wine, but the 'f' had been scratched out and replaced with an 'n,' so that the sign now read 'Blood _on_ the Vine Tavern.'

She entered the building, one of the few patrons here. There were three Vistani women seated at a table near the entrance. They eyed her with interest, seeing her Vistani features, no doubt, but she ignored them and sat down at the bar next to the only other patron, a young man around her age, with shoulder length, dark blonde hair, and fine, if a bit moth-eaten, clothing. He was obviously insanely drunk, for he glowered at her darkly, yelled for more wine, then promptly passed out. Ezmerelda rolled her eyes. _Men_.

She ordered a glass of wine from the blank-faced barkeep, which cost one copper, and asked if there were any rooms available. He answered, in a flat tone, that he didn't know, that the three women near the entrance were the owners and she should ask them. With reluctance, she headed over to them. Two of them were older women, with grey hair and wrinkles, and the other one was younger with dark brown hair and smooth features.

"Hello," she said. "I would like-"

"A Vistana, are you?" one of the older ones asked abruptly, cutting Ezmerelda off.

Ezmerelda bristled. "Yes, I am, I don't see what that has to do with anything," she said sharply. "I want a room."

Ignoring her statement, the other older woman asked, "Where's the rest of your family?"

"None of your business. If you're going to be rude like this, I'll take my money elsewhere."

The three women laughed. "There is no elsewhere, honey," the younger woman said, smiling.

"That's it, I'm sleeping in my wagon!" Ezmerelda exclaimed.

"One last thing," the younger woman said sincerely, and Ezmerelda paused at the door. "You _are_ going to visit Madam Eva, aren't you?" Ezmerelda merely nodded before heading out into the freezing drizzle.

The next morning, Ezmerelda awoke early. She climbed out of her wagon and stretched, then froze, her eyes upward. The mist had dissipated during the night and now, she caught her first glimpse of Castle Ravenloft in years. It loomed a thousand feet above the village at the top of a spire of rock known as the Pillarstone of Ravenloft, a silent deadly sentinel casting its dark shadow over the village. A chill went down her spine as she saw that there was a single light on at the top of the high tower, which seemed to her to be an unblinking eye, watching her tirelessly. She shuddered at the thought of living under this... monstrosity every day of your life. She was glad to put some distance between her and the village that morning.

She remembered there being two major Vistani encampments, one at the Tser Pool, and one near the fortified town of Vallaki on the other side of the Balinok Mountains. The one at Tser Pool was closer, so she would check to see if Madam Eva was there before heading to the Vallaki encampment. To be honest, Ezmerelda was a bit nervous to be around Vistani again. She had been a little girl the last time she had been around her people.

The day had lightened by the time she got to the Ivlis River Bridge. She paused in front of it. Since the village, she had been traveling in the Ivlis River floodplain, so the land had been flat and clear, but on the other side of the arching stone walkway, the land began to slope upward, and the trees had grown into a dense forest.

The bridge itself was a hulking thing of black stone, with leering gargoyles flanking the entrances to both sides of the bridge, seeming almost life-like despite their crumbling features, as if they would leap at her as soon as she set foot on the bridge. Ezmerelda steeled herself and began across. She had forgotten just how hard it was to live everyday life in Barovia. Of course, her life was far from everyday, but nevertheless…

Nearly an hour later, she came to a crossroads. An old wooden gallows creaked in the wind that was whistling down from the high road to the west, a frayed rope dancing from it's beam. Next to the gallows, a crumbling, mossy stone wall enclosed a small graveyard filled with unmarked graves. Across from the gallows, an old signpost pointed in three directions. Back the direction she had come, it was labeled 'Barovia Village.' The left fork, which sloped upwards, beginning the climb into the Balinok Mountains, was labeled 'Ravenloft/Vallaki.' The right fork, however, which slanted slightly downward, was the one Ezmerelda turned Fate towards, for it was labeled 'Tser Pool.'

The road gradually faded, being replaced by a muddy wagon trail that wound through the silent trees. Suddenly, the mist and the trees disappeared, replaced by black storm clouds boiling overhead. Ezmerelda was in a clearing next to a small lake formed by the widening of the Ivlis, only a few hundred feet across. In the center of the clearing was a small bonfire with several brightly dressed figures sitting around it. Ezmerelda caught the mournful strains of an accordion floating away on the light breeze blowing across the Tser Pool. Spaced haphazardly around the fire were four Vistani wagons and five brightly colored tents. A sixth, more permanent tent with a sagging roof was set up a little ways away from the fire. It was lit from within. A narrow footpath continued on the other side of the clearing, meandering away into the trees.

Ezmerelda parked Fate and her wagon next to one of the other wagons. One of the figures by the fire noticed her and waved her over, so hhe leapt down from the seat of the wagon and walked over to the fire.

"Kinswoman! Come sit and enjoy the fire! Here, have some wine," the man said, passing her a wineskin. She accepted it with gratitude, sitting down and taking a slug, then passing it on. She began listening to the accordion player, who was in the midst of reciting a darkly comedic love ballad about the star-crossed love between a madwoman and a zombie. Ezmerelda found herself chuckling and tapping her foot along to the beat, despite the slightly gruesome subject material and the graphic lyrics. The man finished the song with a flourish, and Ezmerelda laughed and clapped with the others as the man bowed and accepted the wineskin from his neighbor. Her nervousness was swiftly vanishing. Why had she been scared to be among these people? She felt at home here.

The Vistana on her right, the one who'd called her over originally, turned to her.

"You're here to see Madam Eva?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Is she here?" she asked.

He gestured towards the larger tent. "She waits for you in the main tent," he said. Ezmerelda gulped, feeling her doubts returning. She began to head over, but the man called her back. "Hey, listen to me," he said. "It was destined that you would visit us here. You need not be afraid of destiny." She smiled at him, appreciating his words, and he smiled back. She then turned and walked toward the main tent.

She was about to knock on the tent pole to announce her presence when a voice like the crackling of dry leaves spoke from within. "Ezmerelda d'Avenir. Enter. I have been expecting you."

Startled, Ezmerelda pushed aside the tent flap and entered the structure. The smoky interior of the tent was dim. The walls were covered in dancing shadows cast by a fire in the middle of the floor. A withered old woman wrapped in colorful silks sat at a low table beyond the fire. There was a cot in one corner of the tent. A tea kettle was just beginning to whistle over the fire.

"Come on in, dearie. I made some tea for you," Madam Eva said with a grandmotherly smile.

"How did you know it was me?" Ezmerelda asked.

"Oh, I have my ways," the old woman chuckled, pouring two mugs full of hot water and adding tea leaves. Of course. Ezmerelda should have known she wasn't going to get a straight answer. Madam Eva handed Ezmerelda a cup of tea. Ezmerelda blew on the steaming liquid.

"So, how are you finding your return to Barovia?" Madam Eva asked.

"Even drearier than I remember it," Ezmerelda replied, and the old woman chuckled.

"It is that," she said. "Come on, drink up!"

Ezmerelda sipped at her tea. It was still quite hot. "So, are you going to read my tea leaves?" she asked, and was surprised when the seer tipped head back and roared with laughter. Ezmerelda felt her cheeks redden.

"My dear, you've been away from the Vistani for far too long! You should know that tea leaves and crystal balls and the like are just cheap tricks to impress simpletons. In fact, the only thing that I have access to that can actually see the future is the tarokka deck," she said, holding out her previously empty hand, which now held a worn deck of cards. "But make no mistake, only the most gifted of Vistani can use a tarokka deck to its full potential. So no," she continued. "It's just tea. It's good for you though, so drink up!" Ezmerelda took a gulp, scalding her throat in the process, but slowly, as the tea cooled, she was able to finish it without permanently damaging her esophagus. It warmed her belly, and, coupled with the fire, gave her a sense of warmth and comfort- a feeling she had never expected to feel in this godless land. Once she had finished, she set down the teacup and leaned forward purposefully.

"I've come-"

"To look for your old teacher, Van Richten, I know." Ezmerelda opened her mouth, then closed it again, deciding against asking how the other woman knew this.

"Yes," she said. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"Not yet," said Madam Eva, handing the tarokka deck to Ezmerelda, who took it gingerly, and the old woman smiled. "Don't worry, it won't bite. Shuffle it up a bit."

Embarrassed, she began shuffling the deck.

"Think of your teacher," Madam Eva said. "Think about your desire to find him. Think about why you want to see him again. You can stop now. Hand me the deck." Ezmerelda obeyed. The seer placed the top two cards face down on the table. She gestured to the first one. "This represents the significance of the place where Van Richten is hiding." She gesture to the second one. "This represents the physical properties of the place." She took out another smaller deck, gave it a shuffle, and pulled the top card from it. "This card, taken from the high deck, represents Van Richten himself."

She turned over the first card. It depicted an old man with a long white beard holding a staff, with magic flowing from his fingertips. "The Master of Stars, the wizard, represents a place of great hidden knowledge and magical lore." She revealed the second card. This one was a picture of a woman in armor with three swords emblazoned on the breastplate. She held a helmet under one arm. "The Three of Swords, the soldier, represents a place of fortitude, with the ability to withstand much hardship." Madam Eva revealed the final card. It had a picture of a human skull in a bell jar. Ezmerelda's heart clenched. Did this mean that Van Richten was dead? But Madam Eva didn't look worried. "The Artifact. It represents something that must be protected at all costs- in this case, Van Richten's identity. Expect him to be in disguise. As to the other two cards…" She stared at them for a minute or so, seemingly deep in thought. Then she spoke. "He is hiding in the abandoned tower on the shores of Lake Baratok. It used to belong to a wizard, Khazan, but when he died centuries ago, the tower was abandoned. Van Richten is now using it as his base of operations in his vampire hunt."

Ezmerelda stood. "Thank you. I must now be off if I wish to reach Vallaki by nightfall." The old woman stood as well, and before Ezmerelda could react, had pulled her into a hug.

"Good luck, my child. May the blessings of Mother Night go with you."

Ezmerelda nodded her thanks and stepped out of the tent into the cold rain that had started, the flap closing behind her. She walked over to her wagon, climbing into the seat with the ease of years of practice. She clicked her tongue at Fate, who neighed softly and set off back they way they had come. Soon the Vistani camp had disappeared around a bend, and she was on her way through the Balinok Mountains- to Vallaki.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Wassup everybody! I hit 50 view this week! It's honestly great to see them go up. Remember, if you like the story, please write a review and give me your feedback! I really appreciate constructive criticism! Anyways we're getting back to Adrian and the party in this chapter. From here, things are gonna start moving a bit quicker. Stay tuned! Thanks so much, guys. Enjoy**

 **Chapter Seven**

 _Adrian_

They left the Helm at Highsun early the next morning after Jaren had prepared his spells, traveling by horse out of the village by the west road, as per the strange man's instructions. The mist still hadn't fully abated, but Adrian expected it to burn off within a few hours. And sure enough, by highsun, the mist was almost all gone.

The group stopped for lunch under a large, ancient oak tree. Errica, who fancied herself a musician, took out the lute she had brought and began to tune it- or rather, untune it, as one could hardly call the ugly twangs she was making "tuning." She plunked out a few discordant melodies, wailing slightly pitifully along with it, until Adrian finally swore at her and told her to stop before he went deaf.

As they continued to travel, however, the mist came back with a vengeance. Within the span of about thirty minutes, Adrian couldn't see ten feet in front of him. It was all he could do to keep following the road. The mist soaked his clothing, weapons, and other belongings until he was thoroughly miserable, and judging from Errica's mumbled cursing, she was as well. Only Jaren seemed unfazed by their present situation, but nothing ever seemed to faze him, so that wasn't saying much.

They continued like this for four or five hours, Adrian steadily getting more and more disheartened. He was thinking of suggesting a meal break when the mist suddenly lightened up, though it didn't fully disappear, revealing that they were in a dense forest of tall, dark pine trees, their tops lost in the mist above them. There was something oddly sinister about them. They seemed to lean inwards as they grew, so the road felt like a claustrophobic tunnel. The only light that made it through the trees was pale and death-grey. The woods had the silence of an unmarked grave, yet seemed to exude an unvoiced scream. And strangest of all, Adrian had the unnerving feeling that the trees themselves were watching the group pass by. It didn't help that the horses began to snort nervously and had to be calmed.

Right when his nerves were shot, they rounded a bend in the road and a massive stone structure seemed to leap up out of the mist with such suddenness that it actually made him start. Reacting to his surprise, his horse pranced to the side and whinnied nervously. Once he had gotten his horse under control, he was able to get a better look at the structure that was in front of them.

It was a pair of huge iron gates set into a massive stone buttress. Flanking the gates were the headless statues of two knights in full armor. The heads in question lay on the ground at the statue's feet, choked by weeds and scarred by graffiti, as well as what looked like…

"Fuck, are those claw marks?" Errica asked, voicing Adrian's question.

"Looks like it," he replied.

"Well, that's attractive," she said, always the cheerful one. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

She spurred her horse forward, Adrian followed a bit more reluctantly, and Jaren taking up the rear.

As they neared the gates, Adrian wondered how they would open such heavy metal gates. He was just about to put the question to the others when it was answered for him as they swung open by themselves with a screech that set his teeth grinding.

"That's not creepy at all," Errica said dryly. There she went, being cheerful again. What would they do without her? They rode through the gates, the footsteps of their horses the only sounds in the deadly silence that seemed to scream through the wisps of fog floating along the ground.

The gates screeched closed behind them with a bang that made Adrian jump again.

"Didn't the letter say something about Barovia being a _nice_ place?" Errica asked. Jaren pulled out the letter and scanned it.

"No, it just says that ' _There is much wealth in this community.'_ It's possible the village has resisted whatever evil has claimed this place. Maybe this has something to do with this Ireena Kolyana's sickness." He replaced the letter in his satchel. "We should continue." He nudged his horse into a walk, and the other two followed.

After traveling for about another half hour, Adrian felt as if he were going to go insane. The silence was unbearable, almost violent in its invasiveness. At this point, he would have welcomed Errica's horrid singing. He had tried singing himself- an old marching song from his time in the army- but his voice had dropped like a stone from his mouth, seeming to be swallowed up by the silence rather than pushing it away. He rode quietly after that.

All at once, he became aware of a smell on the air- one he had grown familiar with after surviving countless battles: the smell of something dead, seeming to be coming from the bushes on the right.

"I smell death," he announced to the others.

"Oh, is that what that was? I was wondering," said Errica, without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Adrian paused, wondering whether she was mocking him or not, then decided to ignore it. He slid down from his horse, and Jaren did the same. Adrian pulled his maille hauberk from his saddlebag and shrugged into it quickly, his helm following. Jaren muttered some words and blue light flashed around him, briefly taking the form of a breastplate and helmet before disappearing. Adrian unsheathed his broadsword from where it was strapped on his horses saddle and headed into the undergrowth, Jaren following with his hands free, and Errica reluctantly taking up the rear, her short sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Their preparations took place with practiced ease, and the time from when Adrian first smelled the stench and when he was heading into the bushes was less than two minutes.

About fifteen feet into the dense undergrowth, they came upon the source of the smell, and Adrian would have gasped out loud had he not had so much gruesome experience with dead bodies.

A small clearing had been trampled into the undergrowth. In the center of the clearing lay the dead body of a young man. He had been mauled viciously, with long claw marks all over him. His clothing, which was worn and patched, had been torn to shreds. The groups appearance startled a group of crows, which flew into the air with loud caws. They had been in the midst of feasting on the man's face. Both his eyes were now gone, his skull was visible through one cheek, and his lips had been pecked off, making his face seem frozen in a grotesque parody of a smile. Even Errica, who always had some clever quip or bad pun to make, was silenced by the horrifying scene before them.

The undergrowth around the body had been trampled flat, and there were multiple paw prints visible. Wolves, then. Adrian strode over to the body and knelt next to it. His practiced eye roved over the body and the ground near it. He was no tracker, but he had seen enough bodies in his lifetime to be able to tell how long one had been dead, and his best guess was that this one was fairly recent, from yesterday morning at the earliest. He also noticed something else that drew his attention. Clutched in the man's hand was a crumpled, bloody, mud-stained piece of paper, which Adrian pulled out of the stiff hand and brought it to Jaren, who was standing still, his eyes taking in the scene.

"Read this," Adrian said, holding the letter out to Jaren. Jaren took it. The wax seal had already been crushed beyond functionality, so he didn't need to break it. He just pulled the letter out from the envelope and studied it for a while as Adrian tapped his foot impatiently. Finally, Jaren looked up.

"It's hard to read because the paper got a little wet and the ink bled, but I think I understand it. It's dated from yesterday." He began to read it out loud.

 _Hail to thee of might and valor,_

 _I, the Burgomeister of Barovia, send you honor- with despair. My adopted daughter, Ireena Kolyana, has been these past two nights haunted by a shadowy figure. My son and I have dark suspicions about the nature of this thing in the dark, but these suspicions must be brought out into the harsh light soon enough. I fear that the beast that has been haunting my daughter is the darkest and most foul creature of the night- the Vampyr. Now, I fear for my dear Ireena's soul, and the souls of all the others in this unhallowed land, for I believe that the beast has grown too powerful to conquer._

 _So I say to you, give us up for dead and encircle this land with the symbols of good. Let holy men call upon their power so that the devil may be contained within the walls of weeping Barovia. Leave our sorrows to our graves, and save the world from this evil fate of ours._

 _There is much wealth hidden away in this land. Return for your reward after we are all departed for a better life._

 _Kolyan Indirovich_

 _Burgomeister_

Jaren looked up from the letter. Adrian shook his head in confusion.

"Wasn't Kolyan Indirovich the guy who sent us the last letter?" Errica asked, her voice mirroring the confusion fogging Adrian's mind. Jaren pulled the other letter out of his belt satchel.

"Yeah," he said. "But the handwriting is different. And listen to this: The letters are formatted the same way, like both starting with ' _Hail to thee of might and valor,'_ but there are subtle differences in the story that they tell. For example, the first one says that Ireena Kolyana is the Burgomeister's love, but the second says that she's his adopted daughter. And the first one doesn't mention any vampires."

"Well, one of them has to be a forgery, then," Errica concluded. "Judging from what we've seen of Barovia so far, I'd guess the second one is probably the real one." Adrian was about to respond when his eyes caught something that chilled him to the bone. He rushed over to the bushes to get a better look. There, half hidden by a bush that had sprung back into place, was a massive paw print. He could have fit his whole foot inside of it, and the claw marks dug a full inch into the ground.

"Fuck," he said under his breath, then called to his companions: "Dire wolf! We have to get out of here!"

"Shit, really?" Errica exclaimed, her face whitening. Adrian stood up, and then froze as a noise floated to them from the distance. The howl of a wolf.

Adrian shared a nervous glance with his companions, one that turned to terror as the one wolf was joined by another. And they were getting closer.

"To the horses! Quick!" Adrian shouted, sprinting in the direction of the road, the other two following in his footsteps. The horses were bucking in terror at the howls, which had now been joined by a fourth wolf. Adrian shoved his sword back into the sheath and vaulted onto the horse, yelling, "Go, go, go!" The horse took off like an arrow, with the other two close behind. The wolves had now been joined by a fifth, and they were close enough that Adrian could hear them moving through the undergrowth. He prayed to Tymora, the Lady of Luck, that there would only be normal wolves, and that the dire wolf was far away.

But Tymora must not have been in the mood today, because a sixth wolf had joined the howling, and this one drowned out all the others, a monstrous sound that seemed to rip through Adrian's very soul. A massive shape was moving terrifyingly smoothly through the undergrowth to the right.

"Stop!" he yelled to the others, reining his horse in and leaping off. The other two skidded to a halt next to him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Errica screamed at him. Adrian was already running for the nearest tree.

"That's a fucking dire wolf! We can't outrun that thing, and we can't fight it either! Up a tree! Quick!" He swung himself onto the lowest branch and reached for the next one.

"What about the horses?" Errica asked, already running for the tree.

"Better them than us!"

Jaren reached the tree first, having longer legs than the halfling, and swung himself up with much more grace than Adrian had managed. Errica, however jumped for the lowest branch, but couldn't quite reach it. Adrian looked to the other side of the road, where the five normal wolves had emerged, quickly surrounding the terrified horses, cutting off their escape. Then the dire wolf emerged. The thing was massive, even for a dire wolf, easily as big as their horses. It had huge, hulking shoulders that stood as tall as Adrian. It growled and started stalking slowly toward a white-faced Errica.

"Hang on, Errica!" Adrian yelled, dropping from the tree, landing on the ground next to her and cupping his hands. She stepped into it, and he boosted her up. He followed as soon as she was on the branch. Looking back, he saw that the dire wolf was charging. In a blind panic, he scrambled up onto the next branch, then the next. As he pulled himself up, he felt the wind from the wolf's jaws closing millimeters away from his foot.

He looked back to the gory sight of the horses being savaged by the five normal wolves. They were lashing out with their hooves, but the wolves were too quick, darting in and tearing chunks off the horses underbellies whenever they could. Adrian saw one horse go down, then the second. His own horse was the last one to fall, neighing in terror as the wolves converged on it. He sent up a quick prayer for it's soul to make it to wherever horses went when they died, but he also breathed a sigh of relief that that wasn't him. He hoped his gear hadn't gotten too badly damaged, either.

The dire wolf growled as it stalked around the tree, terrifyingly silent in its movements. It made no effort to try to get them, just walked around the tree, staring at the party with its devilish red eyes. Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the wolves were gone, melting into the mist without so much as a leaf rustle. Concerned that they were just waiting to ambush the party, Adrian made the group stay in the tree for another hour before Errica finally put her foot down.

"No," she said, when Adrian suggested they stay for another ten minutes. "I've had it. My feet are sore, I'm hungry, and I think I need to change my pants." Ignoring Adrian's warnings, she leapt out of the tree. No wolves came out of nowhere to attack her as she walked over to the dead horses, so the men climbed out of the tree as well, if a bit more cautiously.

Walking over to his horse, Adrian unstrapped his broadsword and shield from the saddle. Fortunately, the horse hadn't fallen on the side where he kept them. Unfortunately, the horse _had_ fallen on the side where he kept his food. He used some extra straps and buckles to rig up a way to sling his shield and broadsword on his back. It was just a carrying mechanism, however, as there was no way he could draw his sword from there, but at least he still had his longsword. If it came down to fighting, he could use that and his shield, but he would have to rig up a more permanent solution for this back sheath.

Errica had lost food as well. She had been carrying all her weapons when they went up the tree, and she was wearing her light leather armor as well. She pulled her sleeping gear and torches off the exposed side of the horse.

Jaren kept his spellbook and dagger on him at all times, so what he had lost was his gear. He kept his food on the other side of the horse, so at least they had some food.

While they were getting all their gear off the horses, Adrian noticed something strange, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Then it came to him.

"Guys, I just noticed something." They turned to him, listening. "Normal wolves would have only attacked us for food. But these horses weren't killed for food. They still have all the choice meat on them. Those wolves went after the horses because someone- or something- doesn't want us to be able to travel efficiently."

"Speaking of travel, we should be heading back of we want to be out of here before dark," Errica said. Adrian was struck dumb.

"What are you talking about? We're not leaving. We have to help Ireena Kolyana. You heard the letter." Errica looked at him as if he were insane.

"Yeah, I heard the letter. Did you? In case you forgot, Kolyan asked us to leave the people of Barovia to their fates. I intend to follow his wise advice."

"Someone needs our help! He also said there was a lot of wealth here. Don't you want the money?" Adrian wheedled.

"Of course I want money, but weren't you just the one telling us we couldn't fight the dire wolf? Now you're telling us we should fight the all-powerful vampire lord? You, my friend, need to get your priorities straight."

"Yes, but with the wolves, it was just our lives on the line. Now it's someone else's, an innocent person that you want to give up for dead!" She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, cutting her off. "Here's an idea. How about we vote on it? I vote we stay. You vote we leave. Jaren?"

Jaren sighed resignedly. Adrian felt bad making him the tiebreaker yet again, but it was necessary. They couldn't just leave this woman to die.

Jaren seemed deep in thought, and Adrian waited, tense with anticipation. Finally, Jaren said, "I vote we stay." Relief flooded through Adrian, and he clasped his friend's shoulder in gratitude as Errica groaned.

"Fine," she said. "But if we die, my last words will be 'I told you so.'"

Adrian grinned. It felt unnatural to smile, but it felt good too. "Fair enough," he said. "Errica, why don't you climb a tree and get our bearings?"

"I could think of a hundred reasons why not, but I'll keep them to myself," she said with a tense smile. Adrian boosted her up into a tree, and she began to climb. Soon, she had been swallowed up by the grey blanket of mist above them. After what seemed like an eternity, she appeared again and dropped to the ground, slightly white in the face and breathing heavily. She bent over, hands on her knees.

"You look like you just saw a ghost," Adrian said. Errica shook her head.

"No, a castle," she replied. Adrian was confused.

"You saw a _castle_?" he asked. "Why are you so pale?"

Errica shook her head. "I don't know," she replied. "It was creepy."

"Well, what's the situation?" Adrian asked impatiently. Errica held up a finger, still catching her breath, then began talking.

"Well, as to the physical aspects of our surroundings, the forest ends soon and opens into a large plain. To the southwest, I saw the tops of houses peeking out of the fog, a couple hours journey from here at least. Beyond the village is a small mountain range, more hills than mountains, really. Above the village on a massive spire of rock is the castle." She shuddered. "It was one of the most horrifying things I have ever seen. It's a large, hulking thing, with two towers spearing up from it. I can't explain what was so unnerving about it, it just was. I felt as though the thing was watching me, exulting in the feeling that it was here before me and it will be here long after my bones have crumbled to dust. I froze as soon as I saw it. That's why I was up there so long. It took me a while to work up the willpower to move. That's all I saw."

Adrian didn't know what to make of this. How could a castle exult in something? It was more likely just Errica's nerves playing tricks on her.

"Well, be that as it may, we should try to make it to the village before dark, to see if we can find a warm place to sleep." Errica looked genuinely scared at the thought, but nodded, and Adrian felt a nagging doubt play in the back of his mind. Something had freaked her out, that was for sure, but he didn't know what to think of it.

"Very well," Jaren said. "Let's get moving."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Hey again everybody. Here's another chapter. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter Eight**

 _Ismark_

Ismark got no more sleep after coming home and finding the horror that had awaited him there. He couldn't stop beating himself up about what had happened, and he spent some time laying on the floor next to the bed Ireena was sleeping restlessly in, trying to fall asleep. Instead, he kept replaying the situation over and over and over in his head, pointing out to himself everything that he could've done better. He lay there with silent tears cascading down his cheeks, thinking, _It's all your fault, it's all your fault, it's all your fault._

When the light coming in through the window became too bright for him to even hope to sleep, he got up and began planning how to defend the house against further attacks by that black devil of a beast that was after his sister. Reluctant to leave her again, but needing materials, and feeling somewhat secure in the fact that it was daytime, he left the house with a sack of gold and headed over to Bildrath's Mercantile, the only store in the village besides the tavern that was still open.

Ismark disliked the slimy proprietor, Bildrath Cantemir, but felt as though he needed to maintain a cordial relationship with the man in order to be able to obtain goods when he needed them, so when he opened the door to the shop and Cantemir greeted him with, "Ahhhh, if it isn't Ismark the Lesser," he tried his best to maintain his composure. "The Lesser" was the nickname he had earned in town for having lived in his father's shadow all his life.

"Mr Cantemir," he said shortly. "I need a hundred nails, a hammer, a saw, and ten ten-foot planks of wood, if you don't mind. Oh, and a ladder."

"Why the fuck does the burgomeister's son need materials like that?" Cantemir replied equally shortly. He was a small man, barely up to Ismark's chin, but he was heavyset and stocky, with short-cut, dark brown hair and beard. He had a very aggressive way of standing that put Ismark on edge.

"Burgomeister," Ismark corrected him, feeling a rush of excitement at referring to himself that way, then immediately feeling ashamed at dishonoring his father's memory like that. When Cantemir looked confused, Ismark elaborated. "My father is dead as of last night. I am now Burgomiester of Barovia Village," he said, feeling smug when he saw a look of nervousness flit across Cantemir's face. Ismark continued. "Why I need these materials is none of your concern. I would be willing to pay extra for some help transporting them up to my mansion, if it's not too much trouble."

"My nephew will help you with that," Cantemir said. "Anything else?"

"No, that'll be it for now. How much?"

"Let's see, ten gold for the wood, a gold for the nails, four for the hammer and the saw, two for the ladder, and one for the hired help. That totals up to eighteen gold. You have the money?" Ismark's eyes popped at this outrageous sum. Even one of those items would be the entire life savings of a normal village person. As it was, Ismark had brought all his father's money, twenty gold, so it was very nearly his entire savings, too. His father had taxed the townspeople, of course, but it had been very low, as most people in the village had not a copper to their name. How Cantemir, curse him, stayed in business was beyond Ismark. He tried to haggle, but Cantemir was adamant in the price, saying, "If you want it enough, you'll pay for it." Eventually, Ismark was forced to concede the price, and handed over the money.

"Wait outside," Cantemir said, eyeing the gold with an avaricious look on his face. "Parpol will be out with your materials shortly."

Ismark obeyed. He stepped out into the cold rain that had started and waited. Soon, pulling a handcart laden with wood around the corner, came Bildrath's nephew, Parpol Cantemir. He was young, only seventeen, but he was a massive lad, a full head taller than Ismark, who was by no means short, with bulging muscles and a thick neck. Contrary to his intimidating body, however, he had a soft, boyish face and a tuft of blond hair atop his head. He was also a very simple boy. Ismark had never heard him speak, and he almost never did anything by himself, instead waiting for someone to tell him to do something. When he did put his mind to something, though, he worked with a single-minded intensity which, coupled with his massive build, allowed him to get physical labor done twice as fast as any other man in the village. Sadly, people made fun of him behind his back (and to his face sometimes), calling him "mother's boy," and "Parriwimple," which was the name his mother had given him. He didn't ever seem to mind, though. Both his parents had disappeared when he was five, and his uncle had taken him in- the only nice thing the man had ever done for anyone that Ismark could remember- though he suspected it was just because Bildrath had wanted to have someone around the shop who would work hard for no pay. Ismark felt sorry for the boy, but he figured it was best to leave him with his uncle, where he was well cared for.

Ismark greeted Parpol, who smiled widely at him.

"This way. We're going to my house," Ismark said, smiling back. The boy nodded enthusiastically and followed Ismark down the road, the cart bouncing along behind him. Ismark was blown away by the lad's strength. Any other man would have struggled to pull ten planks of wood and a ladder down a muddy road, even with the help of a handcart. But Parpol walked casually, even whistling tunelessly to himself, along the mud covered street in the rain, which had now begun to pound down harder.

Ismark felt his spirits lift a bit, seeing the boy completely unbowed by his less than ideal circumstances. He sometimes wished he were able to escape the hopelessness and despair of his life like that. But no, he needed to go on- if not for himself, then for Ireena. He needed to be strong for, the both of them. He vowed to himself that he would die before he let the devil take her away to his monstrosity of a castle.

By the time they had reached the mansion, the rain had become a deluge, and Ismark suggested to Parpol that they wait inside until the rain had stopped. The boy nodded in agreement and followed Ismark inside.

"Wait down here, Parpol. I'm going to check on my sister," Ismark said, and walked upstairs to his bedroom, where Ireena was still sound asleep in his bed, auburn hair spreading out around her like a bed of autumn leaves. He looked down at his beautiful, strong sister, his heart bursting with a fierce love for her, and a raging desire to protect her from everything that meant her harm. He stared at her for a few minutes before leaning down and gently smoothing her hair back. He planted one single feather-light kiss on her forehead before heading back downstairs.

Outside, the rain had lightened up to a drizzle, and he figured this was as good as they were going to get, so he gestured for Parpol to follow him outside.

"Okay, Parpol," he said. "We need to board up these windows, okay? So I'm going to need you to cut those planks to a size where they can fit over the windows. I'll start nailing them." So they got to work.

Parpol worked much faster than Ismark, and soon, a large pile of cut planks had accumulated next to him. Ismark worked as fast as he could to keep up, and soon, sweat was pouring down his face, his muscles were burning, and his fingers were bruised where he had hit them with the hammer multiple times. But the menial task helped him keep his mind off of other, less savory things, so he welcomed the pain and threw himself into the task, body and soul. As he was finishing up the bottom floor windows, the sawing stopped, and he turned to see Parpol looking around with a confused look on his face.

"Oh, you're done, Parpol?" he said, out of breath. "Here, you can take a turn nailing the second floor. I'll hold the ladder." The boy obeyed, and after that, the work went much faster. When they got to Ireena's window, she poked her head out, evidently having been woken by the hammering, and gave a little shriek when she saw the massive lad outside her window, but she quickly realized who it was as he smiled and gave her a little wave. She smiled weakly and waved back, then called to Ismark.

"What are you doing?"

"We're boarding up the windows. We need to keep you safe, Ireena." he replied. She smiled gratefully at him.

"Thank you," she said softly, but he heard. He nodded at her, giving her a reassuring smile.

The men finished up the rest of the task quickly. Ismark thanked Parpol and told the boy that he could go back to his uncle now, and the lad waved goodbye as he trundled down the street with the handcart behind him. Ismark smiled and waved back. Then the smile fell from his face as he turned and contemplated what else he could do to defend the house. Entering the building, he set to work starting fires in each of the fireplaces and closing the grates. That should deter anything that tried to get in through the chimneys, and the sweltering heat that it would bring would be worth it. Another idea occurred to him, and he grabbed a knife and went outside.

His work had taken him hours, and while he had started in the morning, it was now around three bells. The drizzle had let up, but now, thick mist shrouded the village, and Ismark could barely see past the abandoned town house next to the mansion. He turned to the boarded-up windows and began to carve the symbol of the Morninglord- a road leading into a rising sun- into the wood. Ismark wanted to see the sun someday. He had never seen the thing in his entire life, as Barovia was always covered by clouds and shrouded in mist. He wondered what it was like. Did it blind you, or did it give a warm, comforting light? He didn't even know what color it was. He sincerely hoped it wasn't grey, like the Barovian sky every day, as he didn't think he could take that letdown.

As he carved, he contemplated going to get the village priest, Donavich, and convince him to bless the windows, but decided against it, as the priest likely wouldn't leave the church. He never left it except to buy food, not since a year ago, when his son… Ismark shuddered. He didn't even dare to think about the horrors the old man went through every day. He had stopped giving sermons about nine months back, and none of the townsfolk went to the church anymore. Some believed it had lost it's holiness and was now a forsaken place, equal to, if not worse, than the Castle itself.

Ismark finished this new job quickly, carving the widows and the door as well, then thought of one final thing he needed to do. Going into the house, he used the leftover wood planks and nails to cobble together a makeshift coffin for his father. He called Ireena downstairs and steeled himself to ask her. "Ireena, I need to clean and redress father's body for burial. Will you help me?"

Surprisingly, she took it well in stride, paling a bit, but nodding nonetheless. Once that was done, and they had dressed him in his best clothes, Ismark picked up the old man's frail body, shocked at how light it felt, and gently lowered him into the coffin. He stood up next to Ireena and stared at his father's body, tears streaming freely down his face. He slowly became aware that the mantra of self-hate was beginning to start up again. _Fuck you, Ismark. This is all your fault. All your fault. All your fault. All your fault. All your fault all your fault all your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault!_

His face must have betrayed his emotions because Ireena pressed up against him, meaning to comfort him, but Ismark couldn't take her pity right now. He wrenched himself away from her, and without looking at her, he said, "I'm going to the tavern. Don't open the door for anyone except for me. I'll be back before dark."

He ran out the door, tears blurring his vision, and didn't stop running until he reached the welcome light of the tavern, where he threw himself viciously down onto a stool, plunked a silver piece down on the bar, and yelled, "Give me some fucking wine, by the gods!"

A pitcher and glass were set in front of him, and he filled the glass, slopping wine onto the bar. Only after he had drained three glasses did he begin to calm down. He needed a long term plan. Erecting defenses around the house would only work for so long. He needed to get Ireena out. But where? To Vallaki, maybe. He had heard tales from traveling Vistani that it was fortified and well defended, a safe haven from the devil Strahd. The men he had heard this from didn't seem very happy about that fact. Most Vistani served the devil, and judging from their talk, these men had been barred entrance to Vallaki while they were trying to buy supplies for their camp, and they weren't very pleased about the fact. Ismark didn't like the Vistani, but he had to learn to deal with them, as they came through town often and stopped in the tavern more often than that, if that was even possible.

But how was he going to get his sister to Vallaki? It was a long trek through the Balinok Mountains, and while Ismark was pretty handy with a sword, it would be folly to attempt the journey without an armed escort. Ismark would bet his right arm that none of the townsfolk would be willing to accompany them, either. He took a sip of wine, swishing it about in his mouth while thinking the matter over. He made a face. This wine, Purple Grapemash, was the cheapest wine sold by the Wizard of Wines Winery, and was also the only wine the tavern offered. It was bitter and gritty, but was better than nothing, for sure. A glance out the window told him he should be getting home soon, and he was about to stand and head out the door when it opened and through it, clinking and cussing, came Ismark Kolyanovich's salvation.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 _Escher_

Escher awoke to a voice calling his name. He kept his eyes closed for a second, as still as a corpse- which, ironically, wasn't a bad description of him.

"Lord Escher?" the voice asked. "The Count wishes to see you. He awaits you in the throne room."

Escher's eyes shot open. He sat upright and looked to the door, where Helga, the castle's maid, was standing, looking at him nervously. Escher swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes, tell him I will attend to him once I am dressed," Escher said. He looked at the maid, surprised that she was still in the room. He narrowed his eyes at her. "That will be all, Helga."

"Yes, my lord," Helga squeaked, and exited the room with a quick curtsy.

Escher mind raced as he dressed. Why did the Count want to see him? This couldn't be about last night, could it? Had the Count somehow found out about Escher's inadvertent invasion of his mind? What would he do? By now, he was convinced that the Count was in love with the girl he had visited last night, which could only mean one thing- Escher was being replaced. And when the Count replaced his main consort, that was never a good thing for the previous one. When Escher had gained the position seventy-five years ago, the previous one, Elizabeta, had disappeared within a few months. He knew that sooner or later, the Count would attempt to dispose of him, so he had to be ready when that happened.

Looking out the window, he was surprised to see that it was still daylight out, around five bells after midday, judging by the light. He paused for a moment, wondering why the Count had woken him so early, then shrugged his shoulders, knowing he would soon find out. He completed his outfit by sliding into his jacket, an expensive, floor-length thing that the Count had given him thirty years ago, black with red velvet lining the interior. It hugged his slim, muscular frame nicely, accentuating the slight v-shape of his torso, then flaring out so that it spread behind him when he walked. He arranged his long, straight blond hair around his face neatly, then left the room, beginning the descent down the tightly wound spiral staircase that corkscrewed all the way down the length of the guard tower. As he descended, he reflected on the figurative light that last night's studying had shed on the strange vision he had experienced.

After four straight hours of reading, he had been ready to call it morning and go to bed. He had worked his way through two thick books, one titled _Life Among the Undead: Learning to Cope,_ and the other _The Physiology of the Bite of a Vampyr._ He had not found anything useful in either of them, despite having read them cover to cover. It was with slight resignation that he had picked up a third, smaller, book, proclaiming itself to be _An Exploration of the Physiological and Psychological Relationships Between a Vampire and Its Spawn._ Feeling promising about this one, he had flipped to the psychological section, and had found this:

 _The Vampire and its Spawn have an emotional link as well. There are confirmed reports that the Spawn can sometimes feel the same emotions as its Master when the Master is experiencing strong emotion. There are even rumors that, if the emotion in question is particularly intense, the Spawn can even see through the Master's eyes at that moment._

The book had gone on to present a few unlikely theories about why this was, but Escher had found what he was looking for. The reason he had seen through the Count's eyes was because his master had been experiencing strong emotion. Escher had recalled what he had first felt in the vision: desire. This was what had confirmed his suspicions that the Count was in love with the girl and had let him know he needed to be vigilant.

He now arrived at the east doors of the throne room, large blocks of wood with the Count's coat of arms, an eagle with wings spread in front of a shield with Castle Ravenloft emblazoned on it, carved into them. He pushed them open, the sudden breeze making his jacket flare out behind him like red flame. The breeze in question came from the large, round, stained-glass window directly across the room from him, currently broken, with shards of glass sticking out around the frame, looking for all the world like jagged teeth in the gaping maw of some gigantic beast. It had been broken as long as he could remember, and the Count had never had it fixed, whether for lack of a skilled enough glassworker or for some other reason, Escher didn't know. Dim light filtered in from outside, and rain from outside was pooling on the floor. On the north wall of the room, to his right, there were two staircases leading down, one on either end of the wall. On the large wall space between them was an ancient, crumbling tapestry, so faded and covered in dusty, moldy cobwebs that he had never been able to make out what it was depicting. The high, vaulted ceiling was veiled by hundreds of dusty, sagging cobwebs. The only light in the room came in through the window, as the sconces in the walls were all empty, so the southern half of the room, to his left, was shrouded in darkness- what would have been pitch-black for human eyes, but which Escher's heightened vampire vision pierced easily. At the end of the hall was a raised dais, on which sat a high-backed, intricately carved throne made of gilded wood. The gold had long since flaked and peeled away, however, so all that was left were a few patchy areas.

The throne's back was to the rest of the room, but he could feel his master's presence emanating from it. It itched like homespun clothes, making his skin prickle, and if he had been a cat, he would have been hissing and arching at that moment, for the entire room seemed to be crackling with the aura of the man- no, he could not bring himself to refer to this thing as a man- this being that, despite Escher having been around it for seventy-five years, now seemed completely alien and foreign to him. He had never felt it this powerfully, and he knew now the extent to which the Count kept its power under control, realizing that this was not a creature to be crossed lightly. He would have to tread as if he were walking a tightrope made of a single strand of human hair if he wanted to stay alive while under the power of this… thing on the throne.

Moving around the throne, he came face to face with his sire, and if he had been uncomfortable before, now he was in actual physical pain. Instead of his skin prickling like coarse wool was being pressed against it, it now felt as if it were slowly being roasted over the fires of the Nine Hells. The presence that had crackled through the room like an electric shock now felt like it had sent a bolt of lightning straight through his chest and into the wall beyond. He flinched, and it was a testament to his iron will that he didn't fall to his knees from the sheer weight pressing onto his shoulders. Every instinct screamed at him to drop to the ground, press his face to the floor, and submit his mind, body, and soul to this god-like thing before his eyes.

Looking up through the haze of pain at his master's face, Escher shivered as he saw that the Count had no emotion showing on its face. No. Emotion. Whatsoever. That was the scary thing. Escher would have expected the creature to have _something_ there: sadistic pleasure, regret, anger. He would have even happily settled for the Count's usual impassive expression. At least that wasn't this empty nothingness that he beheld now. As to the rest of his master's body, it was reclining casually on the throne as if it weren't bending another being completely and utterly to its every whim.

"Escher." The word hit him like a punch to the stomach, and he doubled over slightly.

"Yes, my lord," he wheezed.

"What were you doing last night?"

"Studying, my lord," he managed to force out, sounding remarkably like a dying cat as he did so.

"What was _I_ doing last night?"

Horror smashed through the haze surrounding Escher's mind. It knew! How the fuck did it know?

"I don't kn-" Then he cried out in agony as the Count seemed to double the power it was forcing upon Escher. The bastard _doubled_ it. Pain shot up Escher's leg as his knee slammed into the cold stone.

"I will give you one more chance to tell me the truth. If you don't, well… I could get it out of you painlessly, but to be brutally honest, where's the fun in that? So again, what was I doing last night?"

"Village… Girl… Had a vision… You love her…" he choked out. He was starting to see black spots dancing in his vision. Then, suddenly, the pressure let up, the presence disappeared, and Escher was no longer burning in the Nine Hells. He stayed there on the floor, panting, for a minute or so before standing up, swaying slightly. Looking up at his master, he saw the the Count's usual mask of impassiveness had come back over his face, and he welcomed it over the void of nothing that had been there a minute before.

"Thank you for telling me the truth, Escher. Your strength always was what made you my favorite. Many of my other offspring would have keeled over dead from the raw power I was sending at you." He paused, and Escher looked up to find a slight smile on the man's face, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Fortunately, I have a way for you to prove your loyalty to me. The entertainment that Arrigal found for me took the bait. They have just arrived in Barovia and I have sent a wolf pack to kill their horses and slow them down. I wish to invite them to dinner at Castle Ravenloft, and I would like you to deliver the invitation. Just deliver one letter, and you'll be forgiven. As a man I am acquainted with likes to say, 'All will be well!'"

"Yes, my lord," Escher said, still taking deep breaths. "When would you like this letter delivered?"

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, I will call for your service when the time comes. I wish to allow them to make the first move in this game. Rest assured, you will get your chance. But for now, you are dismissed."

"Thank you, my lord," Escher said, bowing, and walked to the door, trying his utmost not to break into a sprint.

Once outside the throne room, he leaned against the wall, heart pounding, breath still coming in short gasps. It felt as though he had just scaled a waterfall with his bare hands. Actually, two waterfalls. In the pouring rain. Wearing full plate. And a backpack full of bricks. Every muscle in his body, even the ones he didn't know he had, was sore. His knee was stinging, his head was pounding as if a tiny person with a very large hammer was inside, and it was a chore to keep his eyes open. The Count had never demonstrated power on that scale in front of Escher before.

He took a long, slow breath through his nose, held it in for a few seconds, then blew it out his mouth. Yes, he would have to tread very carefully, indeed.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Hey, again, everyone! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I had a bit of writer's block. Also, I started Game of Thrones for the first time a few days ago. I'm on Season Three already, cause I been binge-watching like fuck. It's sooooooo good though! Anyways, here I am, with an all new chapter on** _ **(cue epic vampire music)**_ **Curse of Strahd! Please enjoy, and remember to leave a review if you notice something I could do better! I appreciate it!**

 **Chapter Ten**

 _Ezmerelda_

Night was just beginning to fall around Ezmerelda when she rounded a bend and the town of Vallaki was before her. She had made it through the Balinok Mountains without incident, and had since descended into the Valley of Barovia, watched over by Mount Baratok to the north and Mount Ghakis to the south. While the Balinok Mountains were hardly deserving of the name, being little more than upjumped hills, these were true mountains, with forested Baratok's top lost in the dark storm clouds above the valley, and bald Ghakis being even larger than that. She supposed that they could be seen as protecting the little valley, but Ezmerelda saw it more like they were choking off all chance of life and escape.

Now, before her, the Svalich Woods receded slightly, revealing a sullen town surrounded by a wooden palisade. Through the now increasing rain, she saw the welcome sight of nervously sputtering torches on either side of the gate, the light seeming to lift her rain-dampened spirits a little. Outside the palisade were a few small farms, with candlelight showing through the windows. It was a welcome sight to see civilization after a hard day of traveling, and the thought of a warm meal, a soft bed, and some good wine drove her to click her tongue at Fate, who began to walk a little faster, as if sensing the prospect of good food as well. The rain was now beginning to pour, and Ezmerelda started to shiver a little bit. She had never liked the rain, and Barovia wasn't exactly a warm place, either. As she got closer to the gates, she saw that outside them were about a dozen wolf heads impaled on pikes. She cocked her head at this gruesome display. She had no idea what the purpose of them was, but whatever it might be, she doubted it had been very effective.

Reaching the gate, which was closed, Ezmerelda dismounted Fate and moved towards the gate, only to be halted by a cry of, "Who goes there?" by one of the two shadowy figures beyond the iron bars.

"I am merely a traveler, seeking food and a warm bed for the night," She called back.

"We do not usually open our gates to strange travelers, especially at night," he replied.

"I would hesitate to call this 'nighttime,'" she replied, looking up at the sky, which was just beginning to show signs of darkening.

"Even so…" the man replied.  
"Wait, Grygori!" the other man exclaimed suddenly. "Look at her face! She's a fucking Vistana!"

Grygori's eyes widened and he hastily made the sign of the Morninglord, snarling, "Back, devil-spawn! We don't allow your kind in this town. Begone, or we'll sound the alarm!"

Ezmerelda bristled. "Wait just one second-" she began, but Grygori interrupted her.

"We won't fall for your tricks, you filthy servant of the devil Strahd!" He spat and made the sign of the Morninglord again. "I'm going to count to ten, and if you're not gone by then, you'll wish you'd never been spawned. One. Two. Three."

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going!" With a final furious glance, she hopped back on the seat of her wagon and turned it around, Fate's hooves making squishing noises in the mud, Grygori making one final rude gesture at her.

Where could she go? She could, of course, park her wagon anywhere and sleep in it, but it would be beyond foolish to stay the night by herself in Barovia. Even though she was a Vistana, with the ability to leave Barovia at will, there were dark things that came out at night in this forgotten land, beings that haunted the depths of her darkest nightmares. She had seen many horrifying things in her lifetime, but rather than enlighten her to the dark, they only served to make her more cautious and wary.

She did recall there being a small dusk elf community about half a mile from town. The dusk elves were no friends to the Vistani, but the two peoples were on cordial terms, and Ezmerelda recalled camping at their village with her clan when she was a girl. She would make for there, and unless things had changed drastically in the past decade, she would receive a polite welcome. She would have to be cautious, however. If she remembered correctly, the Vistani in this part of the land worshipped Strahd as a deity. Her mother had warned her about them.

 _All Vistani respect Count Strahd,_ she had said when Ezmerelda asked her about it. _Legend has it that one of our clans saved his life when he was human. In return, when his enemies fell on us like dogs for helping him, he fought to defend us. The difference is that us Eastern clans respect the man he once was, while the Western clans think of him as a god. They worship him. Their faith can make them dangerous and unpredictable, so always watch yourself around them, okay, little one?_

On a dry day, it only would have taken her ten minutes to get to the dusk elf village using the network of trails around the town, but as it was, it took nearly thirty. Fate's hooves sucked at the mud, making her move slower. On top of that, the wagon repeatedly got stuck in slimy, muddy ruts and she had to stop and push it out. By the time she saw firelight and smelled smoke rising through the trees, she was covered in thick, oily mud and she was in an extremely bad mood. What's more, she smelled vaguely like horse shit.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle as she emerged into a clearing in the trees with a small hill at the center of it. Built into the dirt of the hill were small huts, spaced evenly around the mound and going around to the back as well. There was smoke rising from the chimneys. On the top of the hill was a large Vistani tent, lit from within by firelight, with the sound of laughing and talking from within. Around the crown of the hill were several Vistani wagons. The smell of cooking meat wafted down from the hill, making Ezmerelda's mouth water.

As she approached the hill, she saw a dark-cloaked figure standing on the trail, barring her way. She called out a greeting as she came nearer.

"Hello, friend. I am a traveler looking for shelter. May I pass?"

"You drive a Vistani wagon. You a Vistana?" he replied.

"I am. Give me your name, friend, and I'll give you mine."

He pushed back his hood, revealing dusky brown skin, long, straight black hair, chiseled cheekbones, and pointed ears protruding from his hair. A dusk elf, then.

"I am called Alistaire Strigov. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is all mine," she replied. "My name is Ezmerelda D'Avenir."

"The leaders of this clan are in the tent at the top of the hill. Make your presence known to them. I wish you good luck." He bowed courteously, moving off the trail to let her pass. She nodded to him and began up the hill. Parking her wagon outside the main tent, she made a half hearted attempt to clean some of the mud off her before giving up and heading inside.

The tent was worm and smokey on the inside. A fire blazed in the middle, meat roasting on a spit over it, with men sitting around it, passing around wineskins and laughing. Laughing the hardest was a large man seated in a chair across from the entrance. He was clean-shaven, with black hair cut short and pushed out of his face. He had a square chin, a strong jawline, and a thick neck. His face was bright red, and she could see beads of sweat on his forehead and running down his cheeks. He had a woman sitting on his lap, one meaty hand clutching her right breast, the other holding a wineskin.

As she entered, his eyes flicked to her face, then roved greedily over the rest of her, lingering on her chest, and she fought the urge to pull out her rapier and teach him a lesson. She decided she didn't like this man.

"Greetings, friends," she said loudly, the tent quieting at her voice. "I have traveled long, and I wish to stay in your camp. Will you grant me permission?"

The man in the chair stood up, moving the woman off of his lap, giving her a quick pinch on the ass as he did so.

"I'm Luvash, and this is my brother Arrigal," he said, gesturing to the man on his right, who stood up as well. He had long, wavy hair, an angular face, and a pointed beard and mustache. At first glance, Ezmerelda didn't see a resemblance between them, but looking closer, she saw that they had the same slightly hooked nose and black eyes. Arrigal had a slight smile on his face.

"Greetings to you, my lady," he said with a small bow. "I see you have had a long journey. You are, of course, welcome to find a place for your wagon and stay here for as long as you like. As my brother has given you our names, might you favor us with yours?"

She looked at him, slightly suspicious. This one seemed kinder than his brother, but there was something dangerous about him. While Luvash gave her the impression of a large mace, Arrigal seemed more like a wickedly sharp dagger, less intimidating but far more deadly. Finally, she decided it could do no harm, and answered, "I am called Ezmerelda."

Luvash sat back down with his woman and began groping between her legs, apparently satisfied with the matter, but Arrigal remained standing. He bowed again.

"It is quite a pleasure, Lady Ezmerelda," he said, moving around the fire to stand next to her. "I am glad you had a safe journey. Barovia can be quite dangerous for lone travelers, though I've never seen a Vistana traveling without their clan. I'm sure you have a good reason for it. You do look well equipped to deal with threats. You know how to use that sword?"

She nodded shortly, hand resting on the pommel of the weapon in question.

"Your name is very interesting," he continued with a smile. "Ezmerelda. I have heard rumors of a rogue Vistana with the same name. A monster hunter called Ezmerelda D'Avenir. I heard she turned her back on her family and willingly went into banishment, taking up a life of hunting. She must be a very brave person. You wouldn't happen to know her, would you?"

"I can't say I've had the pleasure," she said through gritted teeth. She should have known she would be recognized! It was a mistake to come here.

"Just as well," Arrigal said. "She is supposedly very dangerous. I wouldn't want to cross her in a dark alleyway. Although, on second thought, maybe I would. She is said to be very beautiful."

Ezmerelda just frowned.

"Well, I've kept you too long. The hour grows late, and I'm sure your journey has been tiring. Good night, my lady." He smiled, a dangerous curve of the lips that didn't reach the black depths of his eyes.

She stayed up late into the night, those pools of darkness filling her vision, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Hey, everyone. Just picked up this story again after months of not writing it, and I'm excited to be back at it. In this chapter, we'll return to the party, just now arriving in Barovia Village.**

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _Adrian_

They reached the village at around seven bells after highsun, if Adrian's internal clock was still good. It was hard to tell in this blasted place, as there seemed to be near-constant cloud and mist cover. But by following the road for about an hour and a half, they reached the village without incident, and the light was just starting to dim as the first dark shapes of houses started to appear out of the mist, crouching dejectedly in the weeds, with scraps of mist swirling around their foundations. Floating through the air was the sound of someone sobbing, a sound of anguish that wrenched at Adrian's heart. He looked at the others in concern.

"Should we check that out?" he asked, a note of worry in his voice.

"I think it's fine," Errica said. She had been growing steadily paler as they got closer to the village, and now Adrian could see beads of sweat dripping down her face despite the cooling air. He was beginning to think she might not have imagined the castle, or whatever it was she saw.

Drawing level with the first houses, Adrian saw that they were long since abandoned, with boarded-up windows and shingles half-off. They looked as though they had once been nice houses belonging to well-off families, but had long since been left to the elements. As they got farther into the town, however, the houses grew closer together, and though the majority were still abandoned, some had trails of smoke seeping from the chimneys. The closer they got to the town center, the more frequent they became, being joined by boarded-up shops with faded signs- a toy shop, a baker's, and so on. The weeping grew louder as well.

Eventually, they arrived at the town square, which was bordered by houses and more closed shops. In fact, only two buildings looked like they still catered to customers- a general store called Bildrath's Mercantile and the tavern, which the faded wooden sign proclaimed to be the 'Blood on the Vine Tavern.' Adrian was a bit taken aback by this unusual name before he noticed that it hadn't always been called that. It used to be the 'Blood _of_ the Vine Tavern,' but someone had scratched out the 'f' and replaced it with an 'n.'

 _That's a bit morbid,_ he thought, scowling, but his thoughts were interrupted by Errica, saying, "By the Abyss, it's good to see a tavern. I could use some good hearty ale right now." She headed toward the door.

"So could I," Adrian replied, following her. "You're not the only person in the world, you know."

"Well, I'm the most important," Errica retorted as they headed through the door, Jaren following a few paces behind. "So you can go fuck yourself in the ass with your sword hilt, cause I've had a bad day." Adrian snorted in surprise and amusement at this unexpected remark, then composed himself and looked around the tavern.

It was a dreary place, the fire in the hearth doing little to drive away the gloom that pervaded the air. The barkeep- a short, balding, pudgy man- was in the midst of cleaning glasses mechanically, a blank expression on his face, looking for all the world as though he were being powered by gears and pistons rather than an actual brain. At the table closest to the door sat three women, two older women with greying hair and a younger one with dark brown hair. They were all wearing colorful clothing that looked familiar to Adrian. He struggled to place it, then realized it was similar to the garments that the man who had given them the first letter had been wearing. At a table in the corner sat two men in commoner's clothes, nursing glasses of wine, a pitcher in between them. Only one man sat at the bar, also with a glass of wine in front of him. He looked to be about ten to fifteen years younger than Adrian, who was five-and-thirty years. He was dressed in once-fine clothing, including a moth-eaten jacket with velvet lining, a dirty neck ruff, and fine leather boots that probably had very thin soles by now, judging from their worn look. His face was strong, with a square jawline and a proud, high-bridged nose. His wavy blond hair just barely brushed his shoulders.

As the group walked through the door, every head in the room turned towards them, probably because of Errica's foul language. The expressions on each of the faces were different. The bartender's face stayed blank. The three women nearest them looked surprised, but there was curiosity on their faces as well, and a slight raise of the eyebrows from the youngest one as her eyes fell on Adrian. The two men in the corner looked frightened and immediately drained their glasses and stood up to leave. But the young man at the bar- his face had a hint of what might be called _hope._ He looked surprised, of course- armed strangers walking into a bar was not something the average person saw every day- but he looked hopeful about it for some reason. He raised his hand to wave them over.

They walked over and took the seats next to him: Adrian on his right, Errica to his left, and Jaren to Errica's left.

The young man spoke with an accent similar to the messenger that had approached them in the inn.

"Arik! A pitcher of wine for my companions!" he called to the barkeep, putting a silver piece on the bar. He turned to Adrian. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"That depends. Who's asking?" Adrian replied.

"Oh, forgive me. My name is Ismark Kolyanovich. I am the Burgomeister of this village, called Barovia Village. What are your names?"

"I am Adrian. On your left is Errica, and past her is Jaren. Kolyanovich, you say? Would you happen to know a man named Kolyan Indirovich?"

A multitude of emotions flitted across Ismark's face before he answered.

"I do. He was my father."

" _Was?_ " Errica asked.

The man nodded. "He is dead."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You wouldn't happen to know anything about a letter he posted near the entrance to this land?"

Ismark shook his head. "No, I wasn't aware of that. Do you have the letter?"

"We have two, actually." Adrian nodded to Jaren, who pulled the letters out of his satchel and handed them to Ismark, who took them, his eyes roving over the letters, a look of confusion coming over his face. Finishing them both, he turned to Adrian and held up the second letter, the one they had found on the dead body.

"This one is my father's handwriting. I don't know the other handwriting. Does that help you?" Adrian nodded. So their suspicions had been correct- the first one was a forgery. Ismark filled three wine glasses from the pitcher that the barkeep had just brought and passed one to each of the group. Adrian took a sip. His eyebrows shot up.

"Hey, this isn't bad!" He exclaimed, and Ismark looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Have you ever _had_ wine before, my friend? This is the cheapest wine produced in Barovia, and the only one this heap of trash can afford." Adrian's cheeks grew hot.

"Well, _I_ like it," he mumbled through another sip.

"I like it too, but not for the taste," Ismark chuckled dourly. He looked over to where Errica was on her second glass and shook his head incredulously. "Do they even _have_ wine where you're from?"

"Yeah, and I'm not usually a fan," she replied. "But this stuff is good!"

Adrian wiped his mouth and set down his glass.

"Look, Ismark, you've been very kind, but you must have a reason. Do you need a favor or something?"

The slight smile dropped off the other man's face, and he nodded. "You have weapons. Do you know how to use them?"

Adrian smiled humorlessly. "Let me put it this way: How old are you?"

"One-and-twenty," Ismark replied. "What of it?"

"Well, Ismark. When you ask if I know how to use these weapons, all I have to say is this: I killed my first man before you were even born. Errica killed a man before I did. And Jaren- well, have you ever seen someone burned alive?"  
Ismark shook his head.

"Jaren can do that with his bare hands. He's a powerful wizard."

Ismark turned to Jaren, a disbelieving look on his face. "Really? Can you show me some magic?"

Jaren gave Adrian a look that said he didn't want to be dragged into this, but sighed and spoke a few unintelligible words. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably for a few seconds before returning to normal. Ismark's only sign of surprise was his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline, but he handled it very well for a man who had probably never seen magic before.

"Well, I'm glad," he said to the group. "I need your help. My sister was attacked last night, by a vampire, lord of this land, known as the devil Strahd." Here he spat and drew a sign over himself that looked like a half-circle, starting at the left shoulder and connecting the forehead and right shoulder. Then he continued. "This was the same beast that killed my father. I have no idea why he was after my sister, only that he was. She was bitten by the monster and traumatized by the event. I believe that the creature is not finished with my sister, and I think it would be best to attempt to move her to a safer place. I have heard tales that the town of Vallaki is well defended, a safe haven from the devil Strahd." He spat and made the strange sign again. "But while Vallaki may be a safe place, the roads in this land are not. I can handle a sword, but I would be a fool to attempt to guard my sister by myself, so we need an escort. Would you help us?"

Adrian opened his mouth to answer, but Errica beat him to it.

"How much you paying?" she asked, the familiar avaricious gleam in her eye.

Ismark's face dropped. "I don't have much… I could pay you two gold each?"

"TWO GOLD?!" Errica shrieked, horror on her features. She was drawing breath to continue the tirade when Jaren stopped her with a raised hand.

"We would gladly take it," he said.

"We would also do it for free just as happily," Adrian added, ignoring the daggers shooting out of Errica's eyes at him. Ismark smiled, a look of relief on his face.

"My friends, I can't thank you enough. We should get back to my manor before dark. It's not safe at night."

"Let's go, then," Adrian replied, standing up.

Ismark stood up as well and moved towards the door, the other three following, Errica looking longing back at the wine pitcher. As they passed the table the three women were sitting at, the youngest one reached out and grabbed Adrian's wrist. She looked at him urgently.

"Visit Madam Eva at the Tser Pool. She knows all," she said, and was immediately shushed by the other two women. Adrian looked at her, confused, but she had already turned back to her drink. Shrugging, he followed the others out the door.

Outside, the mist had cleared. Stepping outside, Adrian breathed deeply, glad to be out of the oppressive atmosphere of the tavern, though being outside wasn't much better. He felt like he weighed more, for some reason, and his heart was heavy with unexplained dread, as if he were about to peer into an open grave. Some force seemed to be pulling his eyes upward, so he looked… and stopped dead. Towering above him, a thousand feet in the air, on a massive pillar of rock, was a castle. He immediately understood what Errica had been talking about, as every single muscle in his body froze. Even his heart stopped beating for a few terrifying seconds, and his mouth gaped like a fish on land as he tried to force some air into his lungs. After what seemed like an eternity, he got his lungs working again, but he felt like he was wearing lead armor, weighing down every limb with crushing force.

Adrian had faced many terrifying things in his lifetime- hordes of goblins, an owlbear, things with tentacles (gods, those were creepy)- but never in his his life had he faced something that literally paralyzed him with fear. Until now. A castle. A fucking castle. He was scared of a hunk of rock? By the nine hells! He refused to be scared. With supreme effort, he forced his cold muscles to move, one step at a time. Once he got going, the paralysis eased a little, and he noticed that he was the last person to shake off the effects. Ismark hadn't been affected. He didn't even look pale! Errica had already seen the castle, so she wasn't really affected, and Jaren, strong-willed bastard that he was, had already pulled through. Adrian was concerned. He had always prided himself on being fearless, always being the one taking on bullies and protecting the other two. But now he was more scared of a damn castle than everyone else was!

"Your first time seeing Castle Ravenloft?" Ismark asked, and Adrian nodded. "Well, you get used to it. Come on, follow me. My manor is this way."

He started off down a side street, the group following. As they walked down the cobbled road, the weeping that they had heard when they entered the town got louder, and Adrian realized it was coming from a run-down townhouse a few doors down from Bildrath's Mercantile. He walked up next to Ismark.

"Who is that?"

"What? Oh, the crying. That's just Mad Mary. She's been like that ever since her daughter disappeared about a week back. She always was a bit off in the head, and I think that finally drove her over the edge. The nail in the coffin, if you will." He smiled darkly. "Come on, it'll be dark soon."

They continued along the street. Though the mist was gone, dark storm clouds boiled overhead, and it looked like it might rain. After walking for about two minutes, Ismark gestured up ahead.

"There's my house," he said. Adrian stared, shocked. He had been expecting something fancy, but the house in front of him was anything but that. It had once been very nice, but now it stood, looking exhausted, among thick weeds. The paint was peeling, tiles were falling off the roof, and all the windows were boarded up. The yard, which was surrounded by a rusted wrought-iron fence, was overgrown with grass that came up to Adrian's knees. The gate was half open, creaking in the slight breeze. If he had to guess, Adrian would have thought that the house had been abandoned for years, but apparently, people still lived here.

Ismark pushed open the gate with a creak and walked up the main path to the house, the only area of the yard that was free of weeds. The group followed him. Ascending the steps to the front door, he knocked on it and called softly, "Ireena? Ireena, it's me, Ismark. I brought some friends."

After a few seconds, there came the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opened slowly to reveal a young woman in a nightgown. She was very beautiful, with tan skin, high cheekbones, and long auburn hair, but her face was distorted with fear, and she gave a small gasp when she saw the party.

"Don't worry, Ireena, they're here to help us. Let us in," Ismark said comfortingly. After a little bit of hesitation, the girl opened the door wider, allowing them inside.

It was sweltering inside the house. There was a fire burning in the hearth, even though it wasn't cold out. In the center of the floor was a makeshift coffin, open, and as Adrian got closer, he saw that it was occupied by the body of an old man. There were long scratches running up and down the man's face, but he was clean and dressed in fine, if old, clothing. The main room was well furnished, with armchairs in front of the fire, rugs on the floor, and bookshelves in the corner. But everywhere Adrian looked, there were signs of age. The rugs were torn, stuffing was coming out of the armchairs, the bookshelves were dusty, and the room smelled of mold and mildew. Ismark turned to Ireena.

"Ireena, this is Adrian, Errica, and Jaren," he said, gesturing to each of them as he said their names. "They're here to help us." Ireena listened mutely. "I have decided it's not safe for you here. We need to make for the town of Vallaki. You'll be safe there. These warriors will guard us on the road. We need to leave at first light, so ready your things tonight."

Ireena spoke for the first time in a slightly quavering voice. "But what about Father's body? We need to take it to the church for burial."

Ismark looked pained. "Ireena, I'm sorry, but we have no time. You know funerals are traditionally done at dawn, which means we'd have to take the body to the church tomorrow and wait until the next morning for the burial. We'd lose an entire day. We can't risk it."

Ireena seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, them her eyes focused on Ismark and her mouth hardened into a determined line. "Then we take the body to the church tonight."

Ismark's jaw dropped in shock, but Adrian was impressed. He had thought she was just a scared girl, but now he saw that she had more courage than he had initially believed. All the same, he felt the need to weigh in. "My lady, as much as I would love to grant your request, I must point out that night is falling. It's not safe."

Ireena turned her dark brown eyes on him. "I will not leave this town until my father has had a proper burial in the sight of the Morninglord."

Adrian looked at Ismark, who sighed resignedly. "Alright," he said. "But we must be quick. You'll help me carry the coffin?" he said to Adrian, who nodded in response. Ireena walked up the stairs, returning quickly, wearing a tunic and trousers, a rapier strapped to her hip. After strapping on a sword that was propped up in the corner, Ismark moved to the front of the coffin and Adrian to the back. On Ismark's count of three, they hoisted it onto their shoulders. Adrian, accustomed to wearing armor and wielding weapons, hardly felt the weight of the frail old man.

"You think you can handle whatever is out there?" Ismark asked Jaren, who nodded shortly. "Then you're a fool. Ireena, stay close to Jaren. Adrian, we may have to run. Let's go." With that, they headed out the door into the gathering dark.


End file.
